Fires were made, but the rock thawed irregularly and much time was lost.
Festing's bruised hand gave him trouble, his mittens wore to rags, and his numbed fingers cracked and bled, but he worked savagely until evening.

Then he walked stiffly to the shack and sat, dejected and aching, looking at the food on the table.

Although he had eaten little all day, it cost him something of an effort to begin his meal.
An hour afterward he heard steps and voices outside and opened the door.
The light shone out from behind him and he saw a group of dark figures in the snow.
"Well, boys," he asked, "what do you want ?" "We want to know when you're going to fix the track," one replied.
"That's easily answered.

We mean to put it right as soon as we can." "Not good enough!" remarked another.

"We've got to know when." "Then I'm sorry I can't tell you.